Hyrulean Holiday
by reathai
Summary: One festival. One reporter. One missing princess. What could possibly happen? AU.
1. dear maria, count me in

**DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing except this version of the plot; I do not own _Roman Holiday_ or _Zelda_. Title song: _Dear Maria, Count Me In_ by All-Time Low. Don't sue me.

_Notes: First off, I am not quitting on _Precedent_, this is merely a side project that I've been entertaining myself with recently. I love old movies, and when I saw _RH_ the other day, I couldn't help myself. If you haven't seen the film, I highly recommend it (Audrey Hepburn & Gregory Peck, c. 1953). However, in reference to this piece, it's not necessary. As for this piece itself, I'm having fun with it by trying out new things; I only have this chapter written so far, but I wanted to test the waters. Any form of feedback is very greatly appreciated and taken into careful consideration. Thank you for reading :)_

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The morning started terribly, with the obnoxious blaring of my flatmate's alarm clock. He slept in the room opposite mine, but the thin walls and closed door still didn't deter the sound from carrying, even after a month-long 'vacation' in Kokiri and the consequent resurgence of foolish optimism.

"SHEIK! Shut it OFF!"

Something grumbled; seconds later, the same something thumped heavily to the floor, followed by a deep groan. I smacked my hand over my eyes in frustration, because he was no doubt suffering from a hangover. We hadn't been home two days – hell, we hadn't been _awake_ for more than maybe four hours in total, and he had somehow gotten himself passed-out drunk. I was sure that if I bothered to check the bathroom, there would be a puddle of indeterminate color and content, as well as an empty or near-empty glass bottle. During the entire trip to Kokiri Village, he'd complained incessantly about the lack of alcohol – despite the fact that I'd discovered the city's 'dry' status in the assignment notes and travel guide, and subsequently informed him four times prior to our arrival. This didn't remove me from blame, apparently, since he'd broken into our bar some time early this morning, and would no doubt whine about my lack of initiative in smuggling our own rations and assuaging his withdrawal.

Reluctantly pulling myself out of bed, I attempted to kick open my door to vent my frustration, but missed and ended up hitting the wardrobe. "Damn!" I hissed, lashing out and punching the heavy wood, and proceeded to angrily throw open the door and stomp across to Sheik's room. I jiggled his doorknob first, loud and hard enough to wake the living dead, or at the very least rip the damn thing from its place in the latch. No response. Knocking it inwards, I found him sprawled on the floor and swathed in his sheets, snoring loudly and half-naked. The alarm clock was quickly unplugged and hidden in a messy closet, and I moved into the kitchen to make a fresh pot of coffee instead of brooding over my interrupted REM cycle. I'd cry over the spilt vodka in the living room later.

My laptop still displayed the formatted notes document on a dimmed screen, which meant that I'd left the media player on and forgotten to take it off the charger. I saved it quickly before shutting the lid and stowing the machine on the nearby coffee table, as opposed to the couch on which it had spent the night. At some point later today, after checking in with the editor, I'd go through and turn my notes from the trip into a glossy article on 'Kokiri Forest PD Scandal: Are the nation's law enforcement standards too lax?.' With some additional luck and possible input from Sheik, I might even have a half-decent working title.

Just the thought of putting the piece together made me want to drink the entire pot of coffee I had brewing in the kitchen, mixed with a generous helping of bleach. The admin never realized how ridiculous some of its deadlines were for writers – especially following grueling meetings with disgruntled officials, and plane delays that only ever seemed to happen on the way there, when I had nothing to work with in the mean time, even if I had the motivation. Sheik, of course, just took pretty pictures and forwent the drama and stress, because he went to school to be a jackass photographer. Then again, he also apparently hated his liver with a passion, so I supposed things balanced out in the end.

I grabbed a clean mug out of the cupboard and set it near the machine before checking for breakfast. I'd been successfully avoiding new bulletins and assignments since my arrival home; during the actual trip, I'd focused solely on the task at hand, viewing only relevant material and blocking any new bias. This spread was supposed to be huge (hence the trip), encompassing statistics and interviews from several provinces, as well as several pages of just photographs, courtesy of Sheik. The assignment had come as a result of a series of incompetent police work, including the infamous Ganon trial that had rocked the nation since its beginning last summer. We, being the resident tag-team, were assigned the job because, as Malo had put it, it was "cheaper to send you two idiots than to hire new ones." That was mostly due to the fact that we had been friends for around seven or eight years, since second semester of junior year of college; accordingly, we knew each other disgustingly well, and could determine where the other might be at any given time with some degree of accuracy. Location came in handy when one overslept and needed to be at a certain place at a given time. (This was generally the present one's cue to take the unsuspecting interviewee to an impromptu lunch, at the absent one's expense.)

Malo appreciated it for what it was. I appreciated it because Sheik was damn good at his job, and made my articles pop. His camera case stared at me from the opposite side of the counter, near the trappings of a six-pack, which had no doubt served as his midnight snack. Likewise, my cell phone watched accusingly from its charging stand while I ate stale cereal. Instead, I turned to the window and its dusty curtains, and scrutinized the strange balloons hovering over Hyrule Field. A huge blue blimp floated slowly over the area, trailing a large banner declaring, "215th ANNIVERSARY CELEBRATION of GREY'S TREATY; JUNE 2009."

"Aw, man." Cursing, I snatched up the reproachful cell, only to discover nineteen voicemails and about fifty missed calls. This did not bode well. As if on cue, Sheik stumbled into the room and slumped across the counter, blankly eyeing the beer can pyramid near the stove. "Hey, man. I think we're in trouble."

He laughed, but it sounded more like a raspy cough. Some hangover. He seemed to have noticed that his hair was sticking straight up in a ridiculous cowlick, as he was bent over the sink and squinting into the window, muttering over his shoulder, "I told you to check your phone, didn't I? But no, Link has to focus. Link can't think of two things at once. Link-"

"Shut up." I pressed the phone to my ear, mentally bracing myself as the first message's number played out in the machine's voice. Malo. And he didn't sound happy. Caught in the midst of drying his face with a handful of paper towels, he spared me a curious glance at my groan. "We're supposed to be covering this stupid festival."

"Now?"

"Yesterday."

"Oh."

The message continued, the series eventually escalating into death threats, completely skipping over the "You're fired!" stage. Great way to start a morning. I sat down on one of the bar stools and put the phone down on the counter directly in front of me; the call was still going, with the messages playing out loudly on almost-speaker phone volume. Sheik raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.

"I never understood why he won't call me."

I shifted the phone to the right, then moved it back again in a giant circle. "Well," I began, "maybe it's 'cause you always lose it. Or never charge it. Or because the one time he asked for your number, you thought it would be funny to give him the rejection hotline."

"Yes," he agreed. I watched as he opened the fridge door and moved several half-empty jars and old Chinese containers until he could fully see the pitiful emptiness. Coming away grumbling about eggs and Bisquick, he pointed at the stack of messy memos on the side of the fridge. "But at least I check my messages within a reasonable time frame."

"Only when you're waiting on a print confirmation," I shot back, annoyed. The messages were still going strong, somewhere between the ninth mention of the phrase "PICK UP THE DAMN PHONE" and the fourth of "I SWEAR TO DIN-!" Malon had also dropped us a line about meeting for drinks upon our arrival home, but we would get to that later; Sheik did not need to be encouraged at this stage of his hangover. He might do something irresponsible, like joyriding on a stolen moped again.

We both sat down at the bar and rocked our stools back and forth while the machine continued to prattle. The cereal was nearly gone by the time the messages concluded with a dramatic, "RETURN. MY. CALLS." Now that I knew for sure that I would be crucified upon my reappearance at the office, I grimaced at my friend and stood awkwardly. It would be in both of our best interests to work on our respective contributions.

Sheik glowered. "I think I know where this is going. Are you going to the Field?"

"Yes."

He glowered more intensely, which had a pretty hilarious effect, given his baggy and bloodshot eyes, and uneven stubble. As if in response to the description, he passed a rough hand over his face until the light scritch-scratching was clearly audible in the confines of our meager kitchen. "Well, buy food while you're out."

Laptop already slung over a shoulder, I glanced back at him as I grabbed my keys out of a dirty pair of jeans flung onto a nearby chair. "I'm not buying liquor," I said flatly. He grinned obnoxiously, _Oh, I know. And I also know you'll cave_. I harrumphed at him and wandered back into my room to find decent clothes and some spare cash, as well as my good coffee cup. Malo wanted the Ganon spread ASAP, because I had allegedly purposefully ignored my newest assignment, some stupid shit regarding the stupid festival. I caught another glance of the street out of my bedroom window, noting somewhat angrily the new unfurled flags, shiny lights, and recently-landscaped flowerbeds. In my opinion, the entire country was taking this thing entirely too seriously; it wasn't even an _even_ anniversary year, or a centennial. It was two-hundred fifteen. _Fifteen_. Of all numbers to pick, why make a huge stink out of this one?

Shaking my head, I pulled on a pair of jeans and brushed off my t-shirt before heading for the front door, sans coffee cup because I didn't feel like digging through my unpacked luggage. Sheik had rediscovered the television and taken his cereal along for the ride, though from here it looked more like milk and a few sodden marshmallows. I shut the door behind me with a soft chuckle. We were in our late twenties, and our flat looked like a dorm room, sans the passed-out and/or naked sorority girls. What a sad reality.

On the street, I immediately recognized the annoying celebration mode of overeager denizens and misinformed tourists. There were Fused Shadow hats and Master Sword shirts, imp balloons and glow-in-the-dark party string; some street vendor at the next corner was selling those idiotic windsock hats. I passed without staring too hatefully at the excited lines, though I did eventually stop for a cup of coffee near the Field. We lived only about five blocks away from the Field – which wasn't actually a legitimate field, but more of a park – but somehow, the commute had been significantly extended by massive crowds displaced from downtown. By the time I got to the wi-fi picnic area, I realized belatedly that my usual benches had been taken over by fat men and shrieking children.

Well, this was brilliant.

I growled at the scene of crowded picnic tables, pedophiles-in-waiting, college kids playing with their dogs on the grassy common. I wanted to write, dammit, and get this assignment over with before I was mauled; watching Fido chase a Frisbee or attack a preschooler provided too much distraction. Still muttering angrily, I wandered down another side path, past the woods and the blue gazebo, back out to the other side of the Field. There was a small copse of trees near the corner of Palace and Crusade, and although I couldn't access the web, I could still hammer away at this article undisturbed. After finding a satisfactory patch of grass, I settled down and organized my notes into a chaotic pile of citations. Then I opened my laptop.

And then I realized I _hadn't_ let it charge at all, that what I'd mistaken for the idle mode had simply been battery conservation, that Sheik had instead left several interesting videos open on my desktop and a silly doodle in Photoshop. A quick check of the history revealed how my poor computer had been borrowed and abused – and _uncharged_. This development was just fantastic; I'd rather spectacularly planned for this spread to write itself by the end of the day, and for me to submit for editing before I had my head repossessed. Now, I had less than an hour of battery life, a screen dim enough to make me squint, and a picture of Ganon being curb-stomped by a rabid-looking Princess Zelda. Thank you for your artistic prowess, Sheik.

I stuffed a hand into the case for a spare battery; upon plugging it in, I discovered I had at least three hours to work before this one would die on me too. Fuming silently, I set to work, eventually managing an extremely rough draft, sans references and citations, within the first hour and a half. Later on I would have to comb through the piece for grammar and readability, and all the little technicalities, before finally submitting for a read-over. It wasn't nearly as much progress as I'd anticipated, but there wasn't anything I could do about it now. I knew I couldn't entirely blame Sheik for the battery, since I should've checked last night to make sure it was really charging – but as for the doodle, that was all on him, and probably indicative of his late-night misadventures.

Either way, with a little less than an hour remaining on the spare, I saved a couple times and shut down, zipped up my notes, and swung the bag over my shoulder, deciding to hit the war memorial for a jumpstart on the newest festival article. By no means was I following my usual protocol now – but the sunshine induced a headache, Sheik's idiocy put me off, and I knew the liquor cabinet would be empty by the time I got home. The pantry would be decimated, more so than when I left this morning, when we only had a quarter of a box of Cheez-Its and a bag of freezer-burnt potato tots. Sometimes I wondered what my mother would say if she saw the way I lived now. Sometimes I really wished I was anything but sober.

The war memorial entertained a group of Zoras, complete with their waterproof cameras and dollar-store fans to ward off the midday heat. A fountain stood nearby as a commemoration to the classical goddesses: Din, Nayru, and Farore, encased in marble and wielding weaponry and steering wild steeds of glory. Malon often commented on how gorgeous the sculpture was, but usually accompanied her praise with criticism of the placement – but that was her personality, and her strong belief in karma. With her opinions in mind, I found a bench on the 'good' side of the statue, facing Farore and cast in the shade of several large maples. I'd just started notes on the general atmosphere and reception when a disturbance lit the small square with excitement.

Opposite Din, a Twili woman argued with a Goron vendor over directions or prices or something I couldn't distinguish. Twili were rare in Hyrule (barring festivals, especially ones associated with major events in Twilit history), though students popped up here and there, they mostly appeared in the richer areas with mansions and white-sand beaches. Many couldn't survive the bright light; none of them could, until sixty-some years ago when some sort of genetic advancement occurred in private labs, thus removing the threats of injury or death. My history classes had glossed over the sudden tide of immigrants and tourists from the Twilight Realm that hit Hyrulean cities around the 'fifties and 'sixties. Those Twili, the first-generation, had dispersed, ultimately becoming a considerable minority appearing only on censuses and university applications. Thus, when the (attractive and vaguely familiar) redhead appeared with translucent blue skin, I noticed.

And when she fainted, I didn't hesitate.


	2. the naming of things

**Disclaimer**: See first chap. Title: The Naming of Things by Andrew Bird.

_Notes: So yeah... six months later, this crops up. Now that Prec is done, I found some time to concentrate more on HH... but that just revealed the problem of a lost thread, because I can't for the life of me exactly replicate the style of the first chapter. Forgive me for the oscillating style, but if I ever want this to get done, the switch will be necessary, at least until I get back into the groove. This and the previous chapter are also susceptible to edits, as I don't have chapters written ahead of time (excluding the tiny part of ch 3). Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed :) Let's hope the pace of this picks up with the outline I drafted :D_

**Niry**_: I'm using the Sheik-is-actually-a-guy-and-therefore-a-separate-character trick :P_

Also to any history dorks out there: Yes, Grey's Treaty of 1794 is a play on Jay's Treaty/Treaty of London of 1794 :)

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_Grey's Treaty was signed in 1794 by Hyrulean and Twili diplomats, thus organizing vast military and economic alliances, as well as boundaries. The legislation followed the reemergence of the Mirror of Twilight and the subsequent Twili conquest under Zant II, which occurred contemporaneously with the Third Hyrulean Civil War. Received as a major stepping stone to peace between Twili and war-weary Hyruleans, Grey's Treaty has been celebrated throughout history as a shared milestone in diplomacy. Today, the festival marks_

I rubbed my eyes tiredly, counted to ten, then turned very slowly in my chair until I could see Sheik's blank expression in full. He knew he was in trouble; the man simply did not know when to keep quiet and shut that black void he called a mouth.

"What did I tell you?"

"Five seconds ago?" I glared at him venomously. "'Shut the hell up.'"

"And have you?"

He grinned cheekily, but it quickly faded when I began to stand, hands itching. "Evidently not."

"Well," I said quietly. "If you don't shut your goddesses-damned mouth, I will lock you outside and destroy your print room."

Jaw going slack, his eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't dare."

"Wouldn't I?" I retorted bitterly. "I'm trying to write this effing article, and as shit-tastic as it already is, you're making it worse. Shut. Up. Or so help you goddesses, I will defenestrate you."

Sheik looked thoroughly unimpressed, though considerably more acquiescent. "Okay, Mr. Sesquipedalian." Without another stray word, he settled back into the couch to watch more of whatever indie film he had playing. Just as I set my fingers to the keys, he leant over the back again to ask loudly, "Is that chick awake yet?"

Sighing, I held my head in my hands, refusing to look at him. "Since she isn't complaining about you, I'd say no."

"Well, she could like me," he considered thoughtfully. "What if she liked me? I did help her up the stairs."

I shut the laptop case, opened it and saved, then shut it again. "I am going to kill you, I swear to fecking Farore."

"You do that," he replied disinterestedly. He faced the TV a second time, only to fall over sideways to feign sleep. If I had one less ounce of self-control, I would be killing him right now. I would be beating the shit out of him with his own goddesses-damned camera lenses and tripods and chemicals. Idiot. What an _idiot_. How many times-

"…Where's the remote?"

"Argh!" I shoved the chair into the kitchen table, then stomped my way into my room, mumbling furiously to vent my frustration. As soon as my door slammed, he started laughing hysterically. "ARGH!" Something, supposedly his fist, pounded loudly several times against what I assumed to be the coffee table.

Idiot. I'd kill him if murder wasn't illegal. If he kept this up, I might kill him anyway.

I sat down on the unmade bed and rested my head in my hands, attempting to sigh out the stress and the panic and the homicidal tendencies. This article simply wasn't coming together, and whether it was my fault or Sheik's I didn't care to determine. At some point I knew I had to turn something in by six tonight – I just…

Something thumped metallically outside my window. Glancing up, I caught a blur of blue and orange before something shattered with an accompanying shriek.

"Hello?" The window had already been ajar with the screen exposed, but now I opened it the rest of the way so I could stick my head outside. Someone was huddled and cursing near the rusted out fire escape stairs with a broken flower pot in her hands. "Uh-"

"I'm sorry!" the Twili spluttered. "I mean, I mean- I demand to know where I am, and I demand to leave. You cannot hold me here-"

Standing with my head thrust out a fourth-story window and staring incredulously at a blue-skinned woman, I didn't know how to respond. "Sorry to, uh, burst your bubble, but we're not holding anyone here. You fainted, in case you've forgotten, and accepted my offer to stay here awhile," I snapped back at her. "I don't know what sort of idea you've gotten into your head, but-"

"But what?" She grabbed a corner of her dress and wrestled with it in an attempt to show me something. "Look at my dress! Look at this tear! I got that from your window-"

"Sorry, lady, but it's not my fault you decided it was a good idea to escape-"

"What else was I supposed to do?" I thought for a minute she was going to stomp her feet in exasperation, but she must have thought better of it; in one hand, she held her stilettos, and in the other, the mussed corner of her dress. "What else am I… I… I don't even know who you are!"

"Okay. Okay, and I don't even know who you are, either," I told her as calmly as I could, struggling to join her on the fire escape. The structure had been broken since the last time we'd been home, when Sheik parked the stolen moped here and ruined the ladder's mechanisms. I'd been meaning to fix it when we left for Kokiri. Now, I stood opposite the quivering redhead, my hands held up in an attempt to look harmless. "Why don't we go back inside before half the block decides to take up chairs and watch?"

With an uncertain nod from her, I helped her back through the slightly larger window she'd managed to escape from, and led her into the living room. Sheik was nowhere to be found for whatever mysterious reason; I assumed he'd gone to develop pictures or grab something edible to eat, as he only engaged in pica when drunk. I grabbed the first-aid kit from Walmart out of the bathroom, handed it to her, and sat down beside her on the couch.

"You're bleeding," I explained quietly. I had a feeling she wouldn't appreciate it if I knelt down and applied a band-aid myself, but she looked so lost clutching the plastic box. "There's a tube of Neosporin in there, I think."

Startled, she raised her hand and stared blankly at the cut, at the way purple slowly oozed out of the scrapes. "I… May I have a Band-aid?" I noticed with some amusement that she kept her head held high, so that the bottom line of her chin was exactly parallel to the floor. Her diction and enunciation had also changed from the uneasy hostility and hurried informality to careful syntax and proper grammar. "What is your name?"

"Yes, you can have a band-aid," I said, handing her a couple of Sheik's favorites, the Sages edition with Triforces and swords all over the backs, and cocked my head at her. "I'm Link, and my roommate is Sheik. He helped you up the stairs when you first arrived, as I'm sure he'll remind you when he returns from wherever he is. Who are you?"

Her eyes narrowed instantly in what seemed to be disbelief, but which quickly mellowed out into caution. "My name is Midna. I apologise for the trouble; I'm not used to the sun here."

"Popular name," I muttered distractedly. My research into Twili culture – all for another spread, of course – had revealed 'Midna' to be one of the most popular female names of all times, all owing to the original bearer of the name, a Twili Princess who managed to free Hyrule of darkness with one of the legendary Links. 'Link' was obviously a very popular Hylian choice, since people loved showing their creativity. "It's no problem. I'm sorry about your dress, though; it looks expensive."

Midna twisted the apparently ruined fabric between her long fingers for several seconds before snorting derisively. "Please. This is easily replaced. It's just such a shame to get rid of it now."

"Well, you know you can just stitch it back together, right?" Pointing at the miniscule rip, I motioned sewing something. "I think one of my friends could probably do it for you."

"Could probably – could _fix_ this? But why would I – I mean. I mean, yes, yes, absolutely. That would be wonderful," she finished, not quite managing to eliminate the flustered gloss from her words. While I shut the first-aid kit and returned it to a new shelf in the kitchen, she took the liberty of glancing around the messy flat, absorbing details and passing judgment with her huge, sunset eyes. They lit up in excitement at the sight of the door, as if twin fires burned behind her irises. "I must leave."

There were no doubts in my mind that this girl was very strange, and very lost, and very unpredictable because she had no idea what to do next, aside from escaping. Before falling asleep, she'd quizzed me on nearby landmarks and street names, and demanded to know the address of the flat and where it was in relation to the square. I wasn't sure if she'd be able to find her way back there, but I certainly couldn't keep her here until she memorised a map of the city. Yes, she was pretty, but that couldn't outweigh kidnapping charges.

I answered, "Sure. Do you know where you're going now?" But by the time my mouth began to form "going," Sheik suddenly bounded into the room, holding a plastic bag I recognised from the chips shop around the block.

"Hey man, I got us some food," he announced through a mouthful of potato. He managed to set the bag down on the counter before my blank silence registered, and he spun around to see the shock written all over Midna's face. "Oh. Oh. She's- Ah, hi. I'm Sheik. I think I- Hi." Flashing her a brilliant smile, he shot me a death glare that clearly demanded, _Why the hell didn't you warn me, you asshole?_ But I just shook my head curtly, nodding at the spare chips I knew he had. His mouth hung open for an agonizing second, then: "Oh. Ah. Are you uh, hungry?"

Midna's eyes had gone wide, nearly bulging out of her narrow face as they tried to analyse the mess of a man presented before her: clothes disheveled and obviously thrown on last minute, hair mussed and pointing in three distinct directions, fingers frozen over a half-eaten paper-wrapped fillet. She seemed impossibly confused and painfully horrified at the same time, and didn't hesitate – she didn't even seem aware of her overtly expressive features – to let the subtle parting of her lips and cinching of her brows describe her disapproval. Sheik, meanwhile, was at a genuine loss, an event that should have triggered fireworks and noisemakers somewhere on the other side of the globe.

"No thank you."

A spectacular crimson rushed across his nose until his normally tan skin bore a striking resemblance to his eyes. He'd jabber on about this later, when we were finally alone again; I knew he was mentally preparing his theatrical diatribe even now with those little gears thrown into full throttle between his ears. I opened my mouth to suggest his departure, but Midna beat me to it:

"I am grateful for your assistance, Link," she murmured to me. "I will not intrude any longer." Then she bolted for the door, stilettos still clutched in her hands, part of the band-aid wrapper clinging to her dress, and clambered off toward the stairs. Sheik and I exchanged a single look equivalent to "What the hell just happened?" before I snatched his wallet off the counter and sprinted after her.

"Midna!" Her gaze found me at once with a startled challenge locked in its depths. I tried my best to grin disarmingly as I approached, a twenty extended to her. "You won't get far without some cab fare," I told her, shoving the bill into her slender hand. "Are you sure you're all right to leave? Sheik didn't mean to offend-"

Despite greeting me with practiced charm, she still exuded confusion and uncertainty. I hadn't even bothered to ask what she had been doing in that square when she fainted…. Now, I felt something woefully close to failure, because I also felt an innate attraction to this girl – and I could feel her slipping away into the anonymous bustle of the city.

"No offense taken." Smile, blink. "I simply must go before I am missed, and I apologise. Thank you." She gave me a wider smile this time, but made up for the gesture by turning abruptly and racing down the stairs to the lobby, and, as I watched through the landing window, all but sprinting first in one direction, then in another: confused. The poor girl had no idea where to go.

Sheik punched my shoulder hard when I finally returned to the flat. "What the hell was that about? She just ran out of here like she saw a ghost!"

"Actually…" I started suggestively, but he punched me again before settling onto the couch with his spare chips and spectacularly pathetic sulking face. "That was weird. She was nice though."

He snorted through a sip of soda, spraying a few drops onto the coffee table while I wrinkled my nose and tossed him some paper towels. "Yeah, nice," he bit back. "I offered her some food and she practically sprinted out of here. This isn't a monster's den, barring the fact that you live here, of course- Did she at least give you a name?"

"Yes, she did." Waving his hand, he inclined his head. "Midna." I had my back to him at the moment, since I'd grabbed a seat in front of my laptop. Some of the windows had been updated in my absence, and consequently, I was so interested in checking my email that Sheik's sudden silence didn't register until I said, "I have to finish that article in about two hours. Did you see what Malo sent why aren't you saying anything?"

An awful stricken look had taken over his face, along with an unhealthy pallor. He even dropped his tray of chips. "Oh my goddesses. Farore, Nayru, and Din!" he shouted, springing up from the couch and smacking his forehead. Then he charged at me and shoved me off my chair, effectively hijacking my laptop to tick away at the keys. "I don't know how- Oh Nayru, I knew she looked familiar. I _knew_ it!"

"You knew what? Midna? How could she be familiar?"

But he just kept shaking his head in his tunnel vision-inducing excitement. I couldn't see the screen over his shoulder because he kept clicking and typing and sighing angrily – and then he tossed the computer at me, all the while pointing excitedly over the top of the screen. "It's her! It's her, look! I told you I recognised her! The flight attendant gave me that Kokiri paper to read, remember? And her picture was totally there. _Look_, man, look at it!"

"I'd be able to look if you'd stop shaking the screen," I snapped at him. He quieted down and hopped over the back of the couch, stuck his chin over the back of it, and stared in anticipation.

"It's her!" he whined repeatedly in response. "It's so definitely totally absolutely her! I could probably TinEye the picture on my cell phone if you don't-"

The creepiness of his last thought didn't even filter through to my temporal lobe. He'd brought up a Wikipedia page of the current first-in-line to the Twili throne, the Princess Royal of the Twilight Realm and Heir Apparent, Midna Tesla Midona, the first-born of the Twyllan bloodline. The Twilight Princess had been in our flat. She _slept_ in our guest bedroom. She used Sheik's corny _bandages_. She broke a pot and ripped her dress and cut her hand on _our_ fire escape. My eyes were tearing up from staring for so long.

"What."

Laughing obnoxiously, he took the computer from me and pulled up a wallpaper-sized picture of Princess Midna. "She's well endowed," he muttered thoughtfully. A wicked grin split his face upon noticing my frozen expression. "If you found her again… If you asked her a few questions, and I shot a few candid pictures… We would have the article of the _year_. Can you imagine that? Article of the year! It would kick the ass of that other thing you're failing to write! Malo would love us again!"

"_What_."

"Oh, come _on_, Link, think about it!" he crowed triumphantly. "It'd be brilliant! We'd be famous! I'd never have to run up a tab and bail again!"

I shut my mouth with a snap and leant against the wall, staring at Sheik while my mind worked furiously. Considering the fact that she didn't know the city well, and probably put herself on a circular track around the same major streets, it wouldn't be impossible to find her – but it also wouldn't be exactly possible, in such a huge city. Wouldn't she get recognised? "But I can't do that. I can't use her like that – and besides, what if she's headed back to the embassy right now?"

The thump of his fist seemed to echo in the tiny flat; the way my heartbeat kept migrating didn't help my thinking process at all, either. Half-choking, I listened to his hare-brained idea of rushing out to find her now, to pull her back in and insist on giving her a tour of the city. It was a big city. Touring a big city would take a lot of time. Lots and lots and lots of time and oh, goddesses, was I actually considering this?

"Sheik. Dude, we can't."

"Link, dude, we can. We so totally can. We so totally definitely absolutely _can_, and that's the beauty of it. And her. You like her." He waggled his eyebrows at me. "If you find her again, she could like you too, then you'd like each other, then you could be a consort or a mistress or whatever they call male mistresses 'cause you wouldn't be a concubine or whatever. Dude, it'd be freaking awesome. Come on, man. Just give it a go. For me. You know you love me. Do it for ickle Sheiky."

I took one long, vacant look at my long-time friend and flatmate. I took a very, very long three and three-quarters minutes to mull over the idea and determine a preliminary plan of action. And then I flashed him a wild grin, jammed his wallet with all of his pub fund still stuck in its innermost fold into my jacket pocket, and took off after the Twilight Princess.


	3. cross my heart & hope to fly

**Disclaimer:** see prev chaps. Title: Cross My Heart & Hope to Fly by The Courteeners.

_Notes: Look at me, being productive :P_

* * *

Sheik found her first, after soberly stealing a moped and racing through the streets near the arts district. I'd gotten the call on my near-dead cell about seventeen seconds later, which happened to consist exclusively of: "SHE'S HERE. I'M HERE TOO. WE'RE AT THE, UH, YEAH. GO TO SIXTIETH AND ELDIN." I then had to catch a bus and very impatiently ride it to the identified corner, and in the meantime, annoy three different passengers with my incessant foot-tapping and nervous scribbling into the tiny notebook I kept with me at all times.

Back in college, when I studied abroad in Kakariko (whereupon I met the lovely, loud-mouthed Ruto), I bought a small memo pad for lecture notes. Lectures at the City University never seemed to hold my attention for very long, mostly because Professor Talon droned on and on about useless things like how to pasteurize milk, and why we pasteurize milk, and how to castrate horses. Consequently, I didn't see the logic in carrying around countless textbooks that would never be opened during the entire in-class portion of the semester, so I assuaged my inner anal-retentive student by buying the notebook. It fit conveniently in a shirt or jeans pocket, and, in a pinch, I could tuck it into the band of my pants, but after Ruto's unwelcome commentary, such behaviour was never repeated.

All of that extraneous exposition held me over until the final stop, whereupon I vaulted off the bus and into the busy street, my head whipping around frantically in search of Sheik's ugly shirt. A tiny bolt of fear struck me as I realized I might not find them – what if I wandered this corner for a good hour, while they gallivanted elsewhere? What if it was too late, and I never saw her again? Swallowing nervously, I completed another sweep of the immediate area, and just barely caught sight of a familiar flash of scarlet.

"Midna!" I sprinted across the street to what looked like a hairdressing boutique and jammed my face against the glass. Inside and chatting animatedly with a woman, sat the princess, her hands fluttering around her head as she tried to convey the hairstyle she wanted. The woman, short and dumpy and wearing a shirt emblazoned with TELMA'S, smiled widely before setting scissors to hair.

The café across the street had its midmorning rush crowded inside, but the outside dining area seemed vacant enough for a coffee stop and a stakeout. Considering Sheik's inability to show, I assumed he was out getting drunk at some nearby bar, or getting thrown into the back of a cop car because the owner of the moped caught up with him this time. I groaned inwardly at the second possibility; I did not have the time, the patience, or the interest to spin a ridiculous yarn to the police about a nonexistent mental disorder or something else equally ridiculous and apocryphal. By this time, Sheik should've had his own personal officer.

I sighed heavily and silenced my cell phone, just in case. He wouldn't interrupt this – if he wasn't here now, I wasn't going to waste time looking for him. Stealing a glance into the shop again, I saw that Midna had moved to the counter and appeared to be paying. The woman from earlier held what looked like a newspaper, but I couldn't see Midna's response or expression due to the glare on the glass. By the time the shop bells jingled, I'd casually wandered over to that side of the street, and stood waiting for her with a fresh cup of coffee.

"Nice hair," I quipped at her.

Startled, she flinched slightly before her eyes widened in recognition. "Oh. Link! What are you doing here?"

"I, uh, came to find you." I ducked my head in embarrassment, because it sounded like I really had been stalking her from across the street. Which I really had been doing, if I wanted to be honest with myself. I shifted nervously to one foot as I tried to formulate the proper words for a coherent conversation, but Midna beat me to it with a sweet smile and the initiation of a friendly stroll.

"Mission accomplished, then." She accepted the coffee with an adorably excited grin, a tiny flash of white, and immediately pressed the rim of the cup to her nose. I might've been more amused at her apparent joy over a simple beverage if I hadn't witnessed Sheik's overenthusiastic nuzzling of Jack Daniels a few nights ago. "I've never had this before."

"It's nothing fancy, just a smoothie. They call it a Red Potion, but it's just got apples in it."

Shaking her head, she inhaled in deeply twice, still grinning, and took a dainty sip. "Mundane to one is extraordinary to another," breathed Midna as her tongue explored the perimeter of her lips. "This is fantastic. Do I owe you…?"

I laughed. "No, you don't owe me. What would you pay me with?" I just barely avoided making a comment referencing anything from the Twili Treasury to the Family Sols. Sometimes being a reporter ruined everything, in the same way that reading the last page of a novel could ruin the ending; not only had I sat there watching her through the shop window, but I'd read her Wiki stub and anything else Google could turn up on her, excluding the Twili sites that banned my foreign IP address.

The general lack of information seemed unsettling. Zelda had at least fifty or more printed pages in her Wikipedia article, and yet, her Twili counterpart only had an 800-word stub? Granted, I was sure I'd find a similar dearth on Zelda if I had access to the Twili pages, but it still didn't settle well with me, predictably so. All of my research into Twili culture only ever ended in roadblocks when it came down to the intricacies and formalities of the monarchy. Maybe they treasured that too, like any other priceless jewel. At the same time, that lack of information made it that much easier for me to approach her as a person, since professions and/or backgrounds hadn't been breached in any previous conversation. This was a clean slate, the same sort of scenario that might have happened if we'd met in a noisy bar on any weekend… but with dramatic irony, kind of.

I jerked my head toward the street and pointed at the change she still held in her other hand. "So much for the taxi, huh?"

Midna actually blushed a scarlet-orange. "I wanted to walk."

"You're lost."

"No."

"Yes you are."

"No I'm- And what if I am, Mr. Link?" She pushed a finger against my chest. "What would you do about that?"

With my best smile, I swept my hands over the surrounding area and, as grandly as I could manage, bowed to kiss her hand. "Why, I'd take it upon myself to show you the sights. Hell, I haven't even seen some of the things this town has to offer. Call it an adventure."

She offered a coy smile, but inclined her head. Slowly but surely, she was leading me away from the salon, and very distantly, I made the connection between the paper and her startled reaction upon bumping into me outside. I could prod her about it, teasingly of course, but I didn't want to spoil the moment. Her painfully precise diction and uptight speech patterns were steadily crumbling into the comforting banter of colloquialisms. She still held her head high, and she still strutted regally, but I could overlook that; beggars couldn't be choosers, despite Sheik's logic. Goddesses, what was I getting myself into?

"An adventure," Midna stated matter-of-factly. "Another adventure shared by another Midna and another Link?"

"History does tend to repeat itself," I reasoned, smiling. "If there were ever a perfect time for such a repeated event, it's now."

A wicked grin caught her lips: "And if said repeated event should include shadow beasts?"

"Then your dashing Hylian hero will protect you."

She snorted at that, almost choking on her half-finished smoothie. "Some dashing hero you are. The real Link had a- wait one second. Hold this, please-" Without further warning, she shoved her cup at me and dashed off down the street, leaving me standing and staring in confusion. She was either making a very clumsy but effective break for it, or some other source of mischief had caught her eye. I had trouble following her because I kept looking for the long, red hair that had been shorn off into a modern pixie cut. The amateur profiler in me, courtesy of too many of Sheik's crime drama shows, suggested her haircut symbolized a kind of rebellion. Rebellion.

Hot damn, she was on the run, wasn't she?

Taking off in her general direction, the possibilities assaulted each other in a mental cloud of excitement. If she was on the run, that would explain her not having any cash or ID or something important, like an escort or security detail. It would explain her unwillingness to stay in our flat and the escape attempt. Maybe it even explained her hurried exit of Telma's.

I was jogging past one of the obnoxious street vendors when a hand snaked out and grasped my arm tightly. "Here!" she announced brightly, thrusting a handful of cheap plastic at me while simultaneously retrieving her smoothie. "I got you a hat, and a sword. They didn't have any shields, but I'm sure you can-"

"-use you," I finished for her. She'd bought one of those goddesses-damned windsock hats, and a rubbery replica of the Master Sword, complete with sticky ink that smeared from the sweat from my palms. "Anyone who happily gives anyone this shit should be used as a human shield."

"That's no way to talk to a lady." Nearly pouting, she sipped slowly at the last of the potion, and very slowly began grinning into the straw. "However, I'll forgive you if you don the Hero's Clothes."

I stared at her in disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me. I am not wearing that windsock."

"C'mon, Link. Where's your reenactment spirit?"

"I am not wearing that thing. Not even if Farore herself told me."

Midna started with that awful smile of hers again, with her lips curling so tightly around her teeth it seemed as though she had fangs. Wicked thing, she was. She snapped her fingers and the cup vanished in a puff of black energy, then reached out, gently took the hat from me, and pulled it over my head. The placement apparently didn't meet her standards, as she quickly grabbed the edge and tugged it until it sat at a jaunty angle. "There," she proclaimed happily. "Now you're the 'dashing hero' you insisted on being."

I clapped my hands together with mock-enthusiasm. "Oh, joy! Now I can live out my dream of being ten again! Wait a second, let me grab my Kokiri jacket, and we'll be off!" But I didn't remove the hat. It sat awkwardly at the back of my head; I could tell the elastic had been stretched to its greatest extent, seeing as it was meant for a kid, but I didn't move it. I couldn't. I felt like an idiot, but seeing that spark of life in her eyes, that flickering of some citrus-colored torch, utterly disabled the rational side of my brain. I liked it, in a sick way. A pretty girl had told me to do something ridiculous, and I'd taken her word and obeyed like the good little boy, the kind that was so whipped he even went along with seeing cheesy chick-flicks. Not that this would ever get that far. Not that there was a 'this.'

Knock on wood.

As she reached for the hat again, her fingers brushed my forehead and I shivered the slightest bit; Midna just bared her would-be fangs. The entire windsock-hat business began when Zelda or Midna or whatever other princess or other gorgeous female met Link, and a little too sweetly dressed him up and sent him on his way while still dazed by the contact. There was no doubt left in my mind. I'd have to talk to Sheik, but that would make an excellent spread once we got our acts together again.

She was giggling at me while I thought. Slack-jawed and flustered, I blinked to clear away the glassy-eyed look and offered her my own wolfish smirk. "Now that I've been appropriately costumed, shall we begin our adventure?"


End file.
